I AM A WOMAN WHO SPEAKS

Written by Catherine Le Guerrier.

Speech

I was four pages into the last Edition of Contours when I was once again faced with the same realization I have had almost every week since starting law school: I am a woman who speaks, and who speaks so very much. I’m assuming most people who have taken a class with me could testify – most professors could. Not only do I speak, but I speak very loudly. Never have I been asked to raise my voice so the people in the back could hear me – like many women are so often asked to do. Actually, I still have some trouble finding my “inside voice” most of the time. The same goes for outside the classroom, in group conversations, when women slowly stop speaking, to eventually let the conversation be led exclusively by men – and me. And I am extremely lucky – I cannot find any better term – that law school has not (or at least, to a lesser extent than others) socialized me into a somewhat passive silence.

I can speak for good reasons, speak to those who would only use my silence to confirm this weird, almost unconscious idea that they necessarily know more than me about working in the community sector than I ever could because of their 10-day internship. Those men who will clog the microphone at a general assembly and never even think that women could have a different view from theirs – men that still think there is a standard, neutral view of the world. « Je fais partie d’une génération de femmes qui n’a pas pu parler, trop occupée à faire naitre le Québec. » This sentence, delivered by Isabelle Boulay in her 2012 St-Jean-Baptiste speech in Montréal, reminds me just how precious my voice is, as it one of the first in Québec’s history that was not crushed under the weight of six or seven pregnancies. When I think of the fantastic advantages my voice grants me, and the fact that I do believe that I can use it to strive for the good, not speaking seems unfair and counter-productive.

But then, there are moments where I know (though it is rarely obvious on the spot) that I am privileged, and that it might be unfair to speak. Do I still speak in those moments? I know that in order to answer these questions, I will need the guidance of others, who see me act at a distance and see what I cannot. Self-evaluation is difficult, but my very high propensity to speak makes me believe that I do keep talking in those situations. I am thus forced to ask why I do so, and I do not like the answer. It could be that when I am not consciously attempting to fight them, I fall back on paternalistic reflexes. It might very well be that I have myself been that very obnoxious person who assumes she knows more than others when speaking – that I myself mansplain.

It seems like a challenge to have two “modes” of discussion: one in which I am very assertive, which will come in handy whenever men speak among themselves of space ships or politics and need to be reminded that women have informed opinions too – and another one in which I accept that I will not speak, or speak less. How may I become that person who manages to do both? It seems a difficult task. To be honest, I still have trouble learning not to intervene in classes for which I have not done the readings, because I have fallen into the habit of raising my hand whenever something pops into my head. Whether or not my thoughts are informed by careful preparation has almost no incidence on this reflex.

All these hints I’m gathering as to when to speak aren’t enough to kill the question that is haunting me: is it possible to be a woman that speaks in this day and age, or have I won my turn of speech by buying into the oppressive behavior that is required to obtain it, and by shaping my speaking habits accordingly? What if I can’t reconcile both these habits? I’m scared that, should I gain the humility I think I lack, I might cease talking altogether. And should I decide to cease talking – will I have done well, and finally become the ally the truly oppressed need, or will I have simply killed, by myself, through a twisted self-mutilating misogynistic reflex, yet another woman who wanted to speak?

Contours is made possible by funding from the McGill Law Students’ Association / L’Association des étudiant-e-s en droit de McGill. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part without permission from the authors.